


Most Proficient (Doesn't Really Cover It)

by coricomile



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6178987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Calder tradition," Ovechkin says slowly. "Old winner sleep with new winner. Bless career. Keep good luck. Don't worry, Zhenya treat you right."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Proficient (Doesn't Really Cover It)

**Author's Note:**

> So. There was this conversation about how you can only win the Calder if you're a hockey virgin- I MEANT NEVER PLAYED- and then it turned into the previous winner taking the current winner's virginity, and it spiraled. It spiraled so bad. I don't- there are no words for the conversation that started this. There are no words for _how_ this conversation started. No one knows. I saw it and I don't know. I blame [Sksmonkey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sksmonkey).

Patrick has taken six selfies with the Calder. He isn't even a little ashamed. He sends all six of them to Jonny with endless rows of smiley faces. Jonny stops replying after the second one, but that doesn't matter. Jonny _dreamt_ of Patrick winning it, and Patrick _did_ and he's going to run that into the ground. 

The hotel is swank, way more awesome than the stuff the league puts them up in during road trips. There's flowers on the dresser and a massive TV and a shave kit in a little golden box that Patrick's considering stealing. He doesn't need it- he can't grow a beard for shit- but it's just so cool and he wants something other than his awesome trophy to show for tonight. 

He's fiddling with the little brush when someone knocks at his door. Patrick startles, tucking the brush back into the case guiltily before going to answer. The hotel people can't _know_ what he was thinking, right? Like, that's not a real possibility. No way. 

Of all the people Patrick expects to be on the other side of the door- psychic maids, Jonny, Sharpy- Evgeni Malkin is nowhere near the top. He's not even on the list. Patrick blinks at him. Malkin shifts awkwardly, still dressed in his ceremony suit. And, Christ, Patrick forgot how massive the dude is. He has to crane his head back to look at Malkin properly, which is weird and kind of rude. 

"Uh, hey?" Patrick offers. "I think you got the wrong room, man." 

"Not wrong," Malkin mumbles. Patrick has no idea how much English the guy speaks. Most of the interviews he's seen have been with Gonchar as a translator, and even then he doesn't pay much attention to Penguins media. "I come in?"

"I… guess?" Patrick steps aside and Malkin shuffles in. He closes the door after checking the hall for stray teammates. It seems like the sort of thing that Sharpy thinks is funny. Sharpy is not funny. Sharpy plays the worst pranks _ever_. "So, what's up?"

"Minute," Malkin says nonsensically as he pulls out his phone. He dials as Patrick stares at him. It's possibly the weirdest moment of Patrick's life. Malkin…. needed a place to make a phone call? Couldn't he have done that in his own room? Malkin hands the phone over and motions putting it up to his ear. Patrick raises an eyebrow but dutifully does as he's told. 

"Patrick Kane," a voice calls through the phone, loud and pleased and thick with a Russian accent. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks?" Patrick misses definitive sentences. He used to talk in them. He knows he did. "Who is this?"

"Zhenya not tell you? Bad manners. Is Ovi. I tell you all about Calder tradition since Zhenya can't." _Ovechkin_? 

Patrick pulls the phone away from his ear and looks down at the screen. The contact name is in Cyrillic, which is totally useless, but that's definitely Ovechkin's picture on the screen. Patrick pinches his thigh. It hurts. So, he's not having a weird Russian dream. That's good to know. A hallucination, maybe? Is he having a reaction the fish from dinner? He's never eating fish again. 

"-good for hockey bonding. Improves spirit! Plus, you get to do next year, which is fun. I say ask Zhenya how it was for him, but he lie. He says I _inconsiderate lover_. Very ungrateful. I _great_ lover. Teach him best. You thank me when he's done. I teach. Have to be gentle with virgin. Not scare." Ovechkin keeps talking, but Patrick's checked out. Malkin and Ovechkin banged? And… feel the need to share it with him?

"What?" Patrick asks, cutting him off. Ovechkin makes a rude noise.

"Calder tradition," he says slowly. "Old winner sleep with new winner. Bless career. Keep good luck. Don't worry, Zhenya treat you right." 

"No," Patrick says. "Yeah, no. I'm good." Malkin shifts anxiously again. His face is kind of red and he won't meet Patrick's eyes. Apparently he's found something super interesting to stare at on the ceiling. 

"You break decades-old tradition?" Ovechkin asks, scandalized. "Bad luck for everyone. Curse trophy. Everyone who touch have bad career. Why you do that to future generations?"

"I don't believe you," Patrick says. Maybe it really is a Sharpy prank. It's bizarre enough to qualify. Patrick doesn't know how he got Malkin and Ovechkin in, but Sharpy's charming. Maybe he bribed them? 

"I have Raycroft call you," Ovechkin says briskly. "He tell you, too. _He_ inconsiderate lover. No passion. Never sleep with goalie. Unless next year's winner is goalie. Then is your duty. _For hockey_."

Patrick hangs up on him. Malkin takes his phone back and stuffs it into his pocket. He rubs a giant hand over his face, looking way too uncomfortable to be in on a prank. 

"Is he serious?" Patrick asks. 

"Yes," Malkin says. "Others say yes. I check." He glances at the bed. "We do?"

Patrick kind of wants to call other people to check, too. But Malkin's fidgeting in a way that makes Patrick want to fidget. Patrick's not big on superstition, but he wouldn't touch the President's Trophy if he was on fire. God damn it. 

"We do," he sighs. Malkin nods and strips off his suit jacket. Oh. Okay, then. Right into it. Patrick tugs awkwardly at his t-shirt before pulling it up and off. 

Patrick has slept with exactly two people. Once at a party with a girl that had cried at him about her ex-boyfriend after, and once on his first night out with the team. Neither one had been particularly _great_ , but he's been busy. There isn't time to go hook up with chicks and get experience or whatever. Either way, he's not a virgin, so Ovi can suck it. 

When Patrick looks up again, Malkin's down to his boxers. They've got ducks on them, which is both hilarious and kind of weird. His hand is curved around something, clutching it kind of tightly. Patrick squints and- oh. Yep, that's lube. Important for the gay sex. Right. Good to know Malkin comes prepared. 

"So," Patrick says, wiggling out of his shorts. "Do we like, make out first or...?" 

"If want," Malkin says. He sits on the edge of the bed, which puts Patrick higher than him. It makes Patrick feel slightly less uncomfortable. 

Patrick takes a moment to just look. Malkin's kind of goofy looking with his big crooked mouth and his half-lidded eyes, and his legs are scrawny in a way that doesn't make a lot of sense. Patrick's played him. He knows they're strong. But Malkin's got knobby knees and kind of delicate ankles that look like they should have been broken after a good hit. 

His chest, though- his chest is broad and clearly defined. There's a tiny patch of hair between his pecs, dark and wispy below the gold chain around his neck. Patrick wants to make a joke about Russian stereotypes, but it's probably not a great idea. There's worse out there, he guesses. 

Patrick leans in, eyes screwed up, and kisses him. It's awkward for a second, badly lined up and planned, but Malkin tilts his head and then they're actually kissing. Then it's not so bad. Malkin's lips are chapped, rough in the same way Patrick's get in the winter, and he's got a little stubble on his chin, but-

But Malkin's a really fucking good kisser. He's kind of pushy, kind of sloppy, but apparently that does it for Patrick. Malkin puts one of those massive hands on the back of Patrick's head, fingers curling in Patrick's hair. After a minute, his other hand lands on Patrick's hip, pulling him in until Patrick's sitting in his lap. 

Patrick considers protesting- he's not a girl and he's not _that_ much smaller than Malkin- but then Malkin's mouth is breaking away from his and sliding over his jaw. Patrick shivers when Malkin bites his earlobe. Maybe this gay sex thing won't be awful after all. 

Patrick shifts, his dick finally starting to get with the program. Malkin groans against Patrick's throat, his fingers tightening in Patrick's hair. Patrick shifts again cautiously. He can feel Malkin's dick fattening up under his ass. 

Malkin wraps his arm around Patrick's waist and lifts, depositing Patrick neatly on the mattress. He cages Patrick in with his massive chest, grinding his hips down against Patrick's. Patrick swears and jerks up against him. It's different than dry humping a girl, but it feels fucking great. Patrick could probably get off on it easily, but that's not the point. He lets himself have a moment to feel up Malkin's chest and get a few more excellent thrusts before going limp against the bed. 

"Okay, let's get this show on the road," Patrick says. Malkin looks at him for a moment, head cocked like a really, really big puppy. Patrick gropes his ass because he can. It's a nice ass. Firm, not too big. Patrick can see himself holding onto it while getting a ride. "Let's get this party started? Bang bus is coming to town?" Malkin puts a hand on Patrick's face and shoves him, which is _rude_ , but then he's sitting back and pulling his boxers off.

Patrick takes a moment to stare down Malkin's dick. He'd expected the guy to be hung, but the thing between his legs is roughly the size of a monster. Also uncut, which is a whole new sort of strange. Malkin strokes it once, pulling the foreskin back over the thick head, grinning smugly. 

"Dude," Patrick says. He prods at Malkin's dick with a fingertip, watching it bounce. It's kind of terrifying. "You want to put that thing in me?"

"Think of USA," Malkin says cheekily. Patrick snorts. 

"Of course you know that one," he says. Malkin helps Patrick out of his boxers and manhandles him onto his stomach. 

"Is easier," he says when Patrick tries to roll back over. Patrick sighs but lifts up onto his knees when Malkin tugs at his hips. 

There's the sound of a cap opening and then a shock of cold between Patrick's asscheeks. Patrick flinches, but Malkin holds him in place. For a moment, Patrick panics. He's about to get a dick to the ass from some random Russian in the _name of hockey_. He didn't sign up for this. He really, really did not sign up for this. Malkin shushes him, rubbing a warm hand soothingly over the small of Patrick's back. 

For a long minute, that's all Malkin does. He mumbles soft sounding words at Patrick, rubbing his back until Patrick slowly comes down from his panic spiral. When Patrick nods, Malkin's hand moves down to his ass. One finger slides through the lube and then it's pressing at Patrick's hole.

"Be loose," Malkin says gently, moving his finger forward. Patrick tenses. It's not- it doesn't _hurt_ , but it's the single most strange thing he's ever felt. He's got a rando's finger in his ass, just sort of… plugging him up. Patrick giggles helplessly into his pillow. 

Malkin starts to rock his finger back and forth, still talking at Patrick quietly. It still mostly just feels strange, but then Malkin makes a huffing, annoyed sound and shuffles closer and then- Oh. That's good. Patrick can deal with that. 

The second finger does kind of hurt, but Malkin goes slowly, twisting his wrist and tugging down on Patrick's rim every time he pulls back. Patrick gropes at his flagging dick, jerking it in time to Malkin's slow thrusts. It doesn't take a lot to get back into it. The friction feels good in a different way, lighting up nerve endings he's never thought about deep inside him. Malkin rubs at that spot that makes Patrick's knees go melty, laughing a little when Patrick moans. His cock brushes the back of Patrick's thigh, wet at the tip and hot.

"Three harder," Malkin warns. He pulls out and there's the cold wet feel of more lube on Patrick's hole. 

"Go for it," Patrick says breathlessly. 

Three _is_ harder. Patrick grunts, chewing at his lip as he tries to relax around them. Malkin rubs his thumb gently over the stretched rim of Patrick's hole, crooking his fingers to hit that spot again. He rubs at it ruthlessly, rocking his hand just enough for it to feel like proper fucking. 

Patrick doesn't know how long they stay like that. Eventually the pinchy, awful pain fades away, replaced by the deep hot fullness he'd felt before. Patrick rocks back against Malkin's hand, chasing the feeling. Malkin gives him a particularly hard thrust and Patrick swears. 

"Okay," he pants. "Okay. Gay sex is a go. Gear up." When Malkin just keeps fingering him, Patrick kicks awkwardly at his hip. 

"Pushy," Malkin mutters. Still, he backs away and fumbles under Patrick for the condom. Patrick feels empty without Malkin's fingers in him. Loose and wet and _empty_. He wonders if it's how girls feel when they get horny, if the need to get filled back up is as strong as this. 

The head of Malkin's cock feels fatter than it looked. Malkin pushes in slowly, holding Patrick's hips still as Patrick tries to squirm away. It hurts. It really fucking hurts. Patrick sinks his teeth into his forearm, forcing himself to take deep breaths through his nose. Of course he got the dude with the horse dick. Of fucking _course_ he did. Malkin brushes a surprisingly tender kiss between Patrick's shoulderblades and pauses halfway inside. 

"Be loose," Malkin says, his voice rough. He drops his forehead to Patrick's back, one hand reaching around to stroke Patrick's cock. Patrick tries to focus on the rough drag of Malkin's palm over the head of his dick instead of the aching stretch in his ass. Slowly, he unclenches and Malkin pushes the rest of the way inside. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Patrick says. Malkin grinds his hips in a lewd circle and the sweet, hot pleasure from earlier fights its way through the ache. "Go. Just go. I can handle it."

Malkin gives him a shallow, hesitant thrust and Patrick gasps. It must be a good enough go ahead because Malkin's next thrust is longer, harder. He presses his knees against the insides of Patrick's, spreading Patrick's thighs wider. The next time he thrusts in, his cock drags over that spot and Patrick groans. 

"Fuck, yeah, that's good. There." Patrick digs his fingers into the quilt, rocking back against Malkin's cock. There's still an edge of pain, still an edge of just too much, but it's more like the satisfying pain of skating too hard or running for too long. 

Malkin's chest is pressed all along Patrick's back, heavy and sweaty and hot. He wraps an arm around Patrick's hips, pulling him back. Patrick swears and jerks against him as Malkin starts a hard, fast rhythm. His legs are shaking, his cock slapping against Malkin's forearm. 

"Good," Malkin pants, his breath warm and damp against Patrick's neck. He mouths at the skin there, his teeth scraping just hard enough to sting. 

Patrick gets lost in it. Malkin's everywhere, on him, in him, heavy and hot and wide. Patrick's cock throbs every time Malkin gets him at just the right angle, leaking onto the quilt. Patrick grabs at it again, letting Malkin support his weight, and chokes on a groan. _Fuck_ he should have tried this before. Gay sex is _awesome_. 

Malkin groans, picking up the pace. The headboard slams against the wall, too loud in the silence of the room. Patrick hopes halfheartedly that whoever's on the other side is out. He gets a few good tugs on his cock and that's it. He's done. He comes onto the quilt, swearing and shaking. 

Malkin bites down on Patrick's shoulder, fucking into him with quick, uneven thrusts. It's too much. Patrick's oversensitive and twitchy, unable to stop twisting in Malkin's arms. His cock gives a few pathetic jerks, trying its best to go again. Patrick squeezes down as best he can on Malkin's cock, ignoring the shivery, shocky aftershocks racing up through him. 

Pain bursts through his shoulder as Malkin bites down harder. He goes still as he comes, his arm too tight around Patrick's hips. When he eventually lets go, Patrick slumps onto the mattress. He was wrong before. Malkin's dick sliding out of him is officially the weirdest thing he's ever felt. 

Malkin flops down next to him, arm thrown over his face. His spectacular chest is blotchy and red, that little patch of hair made darker from sweat. Patrick pats him there once and tries to remember how to move his legs. He's got a feeling the plane ride in the morning is going to be interesting. 

Eventually, Malkin rolls off the bed. Patrick listens to him moving around the room, presumably getting redressed. He's reaches back and touches his hole and winces. It's a little tacky from the lube, still slick and loose enough that the tip of his finger slides in easily. He's going to have to revisit this later. With something way smaller. Ow. 

Something hits the ground hard, startling him into rolling over. Malkin grins at him sheepishly, bending over to pick up the bottle of lube he'd dropped. Even back in his suit, he definitely looks like he just went a round. Patrick doesn't envy his walk of shame. 

"You do next year," Malkin says. "Can call." 

"Will do, big guy," Patrick says with a lazy salute. He should probably get up and, like, see Malkin to the door or something, but he's just learned the true meaning of _fucked out_ and that is asking _way_ too much of him. "See you next year or something."

Malkin nods and lets himself out. Patrick gropes for his phone and takes another picture of the Calder. He sends it to Jonny with _the gift that keeps on giving_ as the caption and passes out. He's a fucking winner.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come hang out at my [tumblr](http://notyourlovesong.tumblr.com)


End file.
